Saying Sorry
by jadey36
Summary: Much does a not very good job of hiding.


**Disclaimer: **Robin Hood belongs to Tiger Aspect and the BBC. No copyright infringement intended. All rights reserved.

**Author's Note: **written for hoodie prompt #4 (crumbs) over on Dreamwidth/bbcrobinhood

* * *

**Saying Sorry**

"_Like a pox on my skin. I keep scratching but you never go away." _

Tears well up in Much's eyes. He shuffles farther into the dark corner of the storeroom. Two days, and Robin still hasn't said sorry.

_I'll show him,_ Much thinks. _I'll show all of them. I'll stay here and starve. They'll find nothing but a pile of bones, and maybe a few crumbs. _ He looks at the scattering of crumbs from the loaf of bread he'd eaten earlier, and the cakes, and the pie. _No, not even crumbs; the mice or rats will eat those. And then,_ he thinks,_ I'll have to eat the rats and mice. _Much shudders.

The storeroom door opens a crack. Holding his breath, Much hunches into the shadowy corner. He sniffs. Is that bacon he can smell? Perhaps he won't starve after all. Then he remembers he's supposed to be withering away and dying because Robin hurt him and he wants to make Robin sorry.

"Much?" The door opens wider. A flaming stick of tallow appears through the opening quickly followed by a dirty-white shirtsleeve and a telltale curve of bow.

For a heartbeat, Much thinks about telling Robin where he can stick his peace offering, if this is indeed what it is. He changes his mind; it would a shame to let a piece of hot, juicy, succulent, salty... "Over here," Much calls, hastily wiping the tears off his cheeks and crawling forwards into the candle's light.

"What are you doing hiding in here?" Robin asks. He puts the side of bacon and the candle on the dusty storeroom floor and eyes Much and the scattering of bread, cake and pie crumbs.

"I wasn't hiding, I was..."

"What?"

_Withering away and dying,_ Much thinks, but he doesn't say it. After all, he's recently eaten a bellyful so not a lot of withering has actually gone on. "I just wanted to be on my own for a bit," he mumbles.

Robin slides his bow from his shoulder and crouches in front of Much.

"How did you find me?" Much leans over the pink, fat-marbled hunk of meat and bacon-hungry saliva floods his mouth.

"You left a trail of breadcrumbs leading up to the door." Robin peers at Much's face. "Have you been crying?"

"No," Much lies. "The smell of that bacon is going up my nose."

"What are you doing here in any case?" Robin asks. "We've been looking for you everywhere. We were worried. I was worried."

"You were the one who told me to push off," Much says, fresh tears welling at the memory.

"You know I didn't mean it." Robin kneels opposite Much, so that their faces are level. "Well, maybe I meant it a little bit. You do talk too much."

"It's better than not talking enough," Much retorts.

"I thought I'd lost her, that's all."

"You would have if it weren't for me," Much points out. "She'd have married Gisborne."

"You don't know that. She might still have thumped him one at the altar."

Much waits for the sorry. It doesn't come. _It'll never come, _he thinks. Along with Robin's inability to talk about his feelings is also an inability to apologise, at least where Much is concerned.

"_You speak every facile thought that comes into your head."_

The tears crowding his eyes brim over and slide down his face.

"What's this for?" Robin asks. He swipes Much's cheek with the pad of his thumb.

Much swats Robin's hand away. "Go away. I'm not talking to you, or anyone. I'm not going to talk ever again."

"Good," Robin says.

"Good?" Much contemplates whacking Robin over the head with the side of bacon but thinks better of it, partly because it would be a waste of a good piece of bacon and partly because he can't imagine ever hitting his beloved master, even if Robin does make him mad sometimes.

"Yes, good," Robin repeats. "Because if your mouth is closed then I can do this without fear of you biting my lips off." He clamps his hands on Much's shoulders, leans forwards and kisses him on the mouth. Robin's lips are dry and warm; they part slightly and Much can taste venison and wine and I'm sorry I hurt you. Much thinks about parting his own lips so he can explore the taste of Robin, comes close to doing so, but Robin gently eases him away.

Much stares and gulps and gulps some more.

"Nothing to say?" Robin asks, smiling.

Much shakes his head from side to side.

"Good. I've found a way to shut you up at last. Will you come back to the camp now?"

Much nods, heart thumping, still speechless.

"Come on, then." Robin slides his bow on his shoulder, snuffs out the candle and heads out the storeroom door.

Much picks up the hot, juicy, succulent, salty bacon and realises he can't eat a thing.

* * *

"Sorry, mate." Allan tosses a bone into the trees, wipes his chin with the back of his hand. "We ate all the food. Didn't think you were coming back. You can scrape the plate if you like. There are a few crumbs left."

Much waves him away. "No it's fine, really it's fine. I'm not hungry."

"Blimey, that's a first," Allan laughs.

Much walks to his bunk in a daze. Robin may not have said sorry, but no matter; Much will live on that kiss for the rest of his days. The thought that there may be more kisses like that makes Much feel just a little bit sick but also incredibly happy. There was he thinking he was always the one left with the crumbs when it came to Robin's affections and, suddenly, Robin's given him the whole loaf; hell, the whole damn bakery.

Much licks his lips – the lips Robin kissed – and, for the first time in his life, feels replete.


End file.
